You Can Hear It In The Silence

you can hear it in the silence

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader

tags: reader is female and uses she/her, no use of y/n, fluff then angst then fluff again, canon typical violence/content, near death experiences, reader gets injured, BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS MY BELOVED, title from you are in love by taylor swift sorry not sorry

word count: 7.5k woah howd that happen

notes: btw i have not read the books and have no idea how the series lore works. im just a tv show enjoyer who loves using Every Single Trope in the book <3

You decided to blame it all on the black cat you passed that morning.

There was really just no other explanation as to why you were having the worst possible luck imaginable.

It started when George insisted that the four of you celebrate the latest win for Lockwood and Co. Hung on the fridge was a chalkboard that was updated daily, labeled ‘Days Gone Without a Near Death Encounter’. The company had reached its latest milestone, which was reflected in the large number ten written on the board in Lucy’s neat handwriting.

“Oh, come on, Lockwood. Just smile for the picture,” Lucy demanded, not able to keep the smile off of her face. George peered over her shoulder at the sight of you wrestling him into position next to the fridge.

“And why am I the one being subjected to this?” He asked indignantly.

“Well, we had to have the sign’s number one offender in the picture, of course,” you explained simply, dodging his hand that aimed to yank at your ear.

He shot you a flat look, but you could see the way his eyes shone with mirth and the way a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Without a doubt, this was your favorite thing about being a part of Lockwood and Co. Sure, you loved the adrenaline that came with containing visitors and looking for sources, but nothing would beat this. Laughing around the kitchen, stomachs full from George’s great cooking, Lucy inevitably poking fun at Anthony, and everyone’s spirits high after a successful job.

You particularly loved the way that Anthony was finally able to bring himself to relax. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you could see how the burden of his responsibilities was affecting him. You had known him long before he became the sole resident of 35 Portland Row, before the business, and before George and Lucy managed to fight their way into his heart. You had remained each other's constant through it all.

Thus, all of his attempts to hide his internal struggles were not lost on you. You tried to make things easier for him at every turn, triple checking the kits before you left for a job, washing the dishes even though it was definitely his turn, and doing absolutely anything you could to make his life easier.

“You’re too soft on him,” George accused you one day, kicking your foot lightly with a sly smile on his face. “You nearly tackled me over the couch the last time I tried taking the last of the noon khamei that, must I remind you, I made.”

“You must be going mad, Karim, because that never happened,” you said with a laugh, looking up from your drawing of George and his scheming face that you were sketching onto the Thinking Cloth. Cartoon George’s eyebrows were furrowed together, a frown on his face while he was trying to figure out how to beat Anthony at chess. Real George grinned back at you, ready to fire back a retort before Anthony spoke up after moving one of his pieces.

With a mouth full of noon khamei, he said, “And that’s why she’s my favorite.”

“I’d better be your favorite, after putting up with you for this long,” you said in disbelief. “I would’ve made you choke on that pastry if you said it was George.”

Anthony used his ankle that was hooked around your chair leg to pull you an inch closer to the table.

“You were the only candidate for the spot.”

The two of you shared a smile while Anthony checkmated George’s king.

After another minute of arguing, you were able to corral him into taking the picture by the chalkboard. George and Anthony left the kitchen to set up the movie in the next room, a whirlwind of arguments over what you would be watching. You and Lucy trudged up the steps in the meantime, going to return her camera to her room. The two of you placed bets on who would break the company’s streak next, and Lucy was insistent that it wouldn’t be her.

Still laughing when you reached the top floor, you pushed open Lucy’s door and moved to land face first on her bed.

You adored Lucy’s room. After a few months at Lockwood and Co., her room was now completely transformed from the attic full of extra junk to an actual bedroom. Her bedside table was full of her small belongings that you loved to look through. A pair of small scissors that she used to trim her bangs whenever they got the slightest bit too long. A stack of her audio recordings she had yet to send to her friend Norrie. Her black nail polish. At the foot of her bed was her pair of Converse that she had kicked off earlier.

“Oh, look, the picture developed.” She held the picture out to you to see, pulling your attention away from the pictures pinned on her mirror.

You took the freshly developed photo out of her hand and couldn’t help but let a smile take over your face. Anthony was half grinning and the board was tilted from when you accidentally knocked him into it. You could see where your hand was curled around his bicep to keep him from ducking out of frame. You moved to hand it back to Lucy, but she shook her head, smiling like she knew something you didn’t.

“It’s for you.”

“Really?”

This confused you. Lucy never really gave away the photos she took, instead choosing to stick them on her walls. She was almost completely done covering one of the posts in her room, and you assumed she wanted to add it to her collection. Except she nodded, the odd grin still painted across her face. She moved for the staircase, leaving no room for argument.

“I guess you’re right, if Anthony got his hands on this, he’d probably toss it,” you agreed, moving down the stairs after her.

Lucy had to fight the urge to hit you. You and Lockwood were really some of the stupidest people she had ever met.

Slipping into your bedroom that was next to Anthony and George’s, you reached onto your shelf for your photo album. You had lots of pictures of the four of you, but not nearly as much as Lucy. All of yours fit into one photobook, and you flipped to the nearest empty page. You froze while sliding the picture into the sleeve. It was actually really cute.

Well. No one would know.

You darted down the steps after Lucy, the photo safe in your wallet and your album back in its spot on the shelf.

The small television sat in the center of the living room, the movie already playing. Everyone was sitting in their unassigned assigned seats, Lucy in her armchair on the left and George lounging on the single couch opposite her. Anthony, ever the annoyance, was sprawled out along the length of the entire couch, his long legs kicked up on the arm rest while his feet, clad in pink socks, hung off the edge. You grumbled to yourself and cursed everyone for starting the movie while you were gone. You laid down hard on top of Anthony, causing the air to leave his lungs. You repositioned yourselves for a while, before finally ending up with you laying down on your back and him draped on top of you on his stomach. His head rested under your chin, and your legs were tangled together. He shifted and you could smell cinnamon.

“You smell nice,” you mumbled into his hair.

“Quit sniffing me.”

“You remind me of a flower.”

“You’re terribly allergic to them.”

“I know.”

The film played for a few more minutes. The movie was actually pretty interesting, and you watched in amusement as the main character slipped down the stairs and toppled into the love interest.

“This movie sucks,” Anthony mumbled into your neck.

You smoothed a hand over the back of his messy hair.

“Why would you let George choose it?” you whispered back.

“I didn’t. I chose it.”

You rolled your eyes and did not respond, opting to watch the movie instead. Anthony had a terrible habit of talking whenever anything played on television. The only times you could pay attention to movies was when he was fast asleep. Your hand began to card through his brown hair, and it felt like his body melted into yours.

He groaned, reaching up with his arm to half-heartedly swat your hand away from his head.

“Stop that. I’m going to fall asleep.”

“The only other way to get you to fall asleep is by taking a bat to your head. I’m up for that too, if you’d prefer.”

“It’s so fun when you threaten me.”

George shushed you both from his side of the room, oddly defensive over a movie he was arguing against less than half an hour ago.

“If you guys could stop talking, that'd be great.”

You held up your hands in surrender. Anthony did too, you guessed, as he quickly reached to pull one of your hands from the air and back to his head. So much for not wanting to sleep. After a few more minutes of lightly dragging your hands through his hair and sweeping stray hairs out of his face, he was out like a light. You craned your neck slightly to see if he was actually asleep. Your heart constricted in your chest.

As his best friend, you would admit that Anthony looked nice. Most people would agree. When he wore his trademark button up shirt and tie and had a blinding smile plastered on his face he could charm his way into whatever he wanted. But nothing would beat the way he looked here at home, in a tee shirt and comfortable pajama pants, his hair haphazard from you running your fingers through it.

You fell asleep to the sound of church bells as the man on screen kissed the bride.

—

Your neck tickled. You moved your right arm, not surprised to find it stuck. Opening your eyes, a familiar scene was before you, the sight of you and Anthony tangled together on the small couch. Ridding yourself of him was always like solving a difficult puzzle. In his sleep, Anthony always found a way to cling, as if you’d run away in your sleep. It appeared that your position had not changed much while the two of you were off to Dreamland. He was hung half on top of you, his right leg sandwiched between both of yours, an arm curled over your waist and his hand stuck under your back. His face was burrowed into the area between your shoulder and your jaw, and when he exhaled, you could feel the warmth tickle your neck.

Your favorite blanket was falling off of Anthony’s leg and onto the carpet. It was your favorite blanket, a funny one that George had knit for your last birthday. Stitched above a slightly lopsided cartoon ghost was a stupid joke.

Why do ghosts ride lifts?

It raises their spirits.

Lucy must’ve thrown it over the both of you last night, but she didn’t take into account how Anthony was a living, breathing, fully functioning human heater. You were convinced that all of his thoughts bounced around his head like crazy and significantly increased his body temperature. He said it was from the high blood pressure he got from being around you so much. You decided to agree to disagree.

A clink could be heard from somewhere in the house, presumably the kitchen. Your stomach echoed its hunger at you. You snuck a chance at Anthony, who was still fast asleep.

During the night, Anthony had herded you between the cushion and the back of the couch, his body effectively creating a barrier between you and the door. You could practically feel your heart soften at this. Another new change that came from the start of the company was a rather… fierce protective side that came out of him. Even asleep, his mind was working at a million miles per hour. One of your free arms rubbed up and down his back, which seemed to make him stir awake.

“Anthony, let go.”

He ignored you and his grip seemed to get even tighter. “Good morning,” he rasped instead.

Your heart, still softened from thoughts of your best friend, lurched violently against your ribcage. Not even you were immune to the way he sounded first thing in the morning.

“I’m going to starve to death if you don’t let me go eat.”

“Oh no,” he mumbled, moving you in his arms so that your back was pressed firmly to his chest. “What wood would you like the coffin to be made of? Do you prefer an open or closed casket?”

He caught your wrist and held it against your chest when your arm moved to hit him in the face.

“Mmm… Mahogany. And open casket, but only if you get Lucy to agree to do my makeup. You can’t have me looking like a corpse at my funeral.”

“As if I’d ever allow that. But I’ve just remembered we’d have to use silver for the coffin, actually. We can’t have your ghost coming back to visit us.”

You smiled as you absentmindedly spun the ring around his finger. “You could do the eulogy, I guess. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm George, as I’d like him to do the catering.”

He hummed noncommittally into your shoulder, and you could tell he was nodding off again.

“And invite Kipps for me too, please.”

He stiffened. Scoffing, he tightened his grip on you the slightest bit again.

“If he even thought about showing up, I’d put his rapier right up-”

A new noise chimed in now, a crash from the kitchen.

You sat straight up, senses heightened.

“Hello?” You called out.

There was no response.

You pushed yourself up off the couch, climbing over Anthony’s legs.

You padded across the wooden floors, your socks quieting the sound of you moving across the room. Nearly tripping over a stack of books from the library that George left sitting around, you walked past the other couches and reached to grip the doorknob in your hand. Anthony beat you to it, though, and he slipped into the hallway before you.

Prick.

The hallway was empty. A quick glance up the steps showed that it was also void of life. You caught a glimpse of old newspaper clippings that mentioned the company and of course, ones mentioning Lockwood himself. You turned back around, and was met with the sight of Anthony brandishing his rapier, having silently pulled it from its stand next to the front door.

“Relax,” you whispered. “The scariest thing you’ll see this early in the morning is George without his trousers on.”

It was able to get a slight laugh from him, but the crease between his eyebrows told you he was still worried. Your hushed tone and nervous shuffling told him the same thing.

In the corner of your eye, the both of you caught movement through the frosted glass that led to the kitchen. A figure moving, one that was much too tall to be George or Lucy. Your breath caught in your throat.

Anthony turned to you, a serious look on his face now. Stay back, he seemed to say. He continued towards the door, his sword held defensively in front of him. You slid yours out of its holder as well and followed behind him.

His hand rested on the doorknob and he turned to face you again.

One.

Two.

Three.

He slammed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest. It seemed like the glass would rattle straight out of the door with the force of it colliding into the door stop. Anthony’s gaze swept around the room, surveying the danger. You held your rapier up in front of you, ready to jump into action. Instead, you watched as he pulled his sword out of view from whoever was in the kitchen, and rested it on the doorway.

“Well, good morning,” he said, cheerily, and you already knew he had his endearing smile on. “To what do we owe this pleasure, sir?” He stepped over the threshold and continued conversing with this person in the kitchen.

Taking it as a sign that no danger was nearby, you lifted his sword and returned both of yours to the rack before following him into the room.

Sitting in your usual chair was a young man, probably in his early twenties. He had messy blonde hair, which looked like he, too, had just rolled out of bed and come straight to 35 Portland Row’s kitchen. His face was sickly pale, and it looked like he was going to pass out right on the chair in the middle of the room. George was standing in front of the pantry, looking rather upset with a broken glass in hand.

All of that worrying because of a young man and a broken cup.

“Forgive my state of dress and rather abrupt entrance, Mr. Moore. You can never be too careful these days, can you?” Lockwood asked, smoothing his own hair back into place while continuing to beam at the strange man in your seat.

You made your way over to George, who ran a hand through his unruly curls in frustration.

“What’s up, Georgie?”

He sighed, tossing the remains of the cup in the trash before turning around and pressing his palms to the counter. “Yesterday, Lucy was badgering me so much about picking up last nights’ movies that I completely forgot to restock our food supply.”

“So?”

“Usually, I wouldn’t care, but,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “this man looks like he’s a second from keeling over, and we have nothing to offer him. You should’ve seen the way he looked when he came knocking about an hour ago. He looked even worse than he does now.”

You two dared a glance at the man in question, who was swaying slightly in his seat. Tears were forming in his eyes, and his hands were shaking. He tried to clench and unclench his fingers to hide it, but the tremors were clear as day.

“I could run to Arif’s, pick up some doughnuts,” you offered. If he was this unwell now, you could only imagine what kind of state he was in when George opened the front door.

George’s entire face seemed to light up. “That’d be great. I’m going to get the kits ready, it looks like we have a job on our hands.” He disappeared down into the basement, whistling down the steps. You could hear the sound of keys jingling as he swung the keyring around his finger.

You continued toward the front door, and squeezed one of Anthony's shoulders to let him know you were heading out. Still deep into his serious conversation with Mr. Moore, he nodded his head slightly towards the coat rack. Don’t forget.

You gave him a show of sliding your arms through the sleeves of your jacket and even throwing on the warmest scarf you could find before shutting the door behind you.

—

It passed you when you were crossing the street back to the house.

A small black cat, sprinting in front of you like one of its nine lives depended on it. You nearly dropped the dozen doughnuts in your hand, and you watched as it dived into a nearby bush. How cute.

(You would later retract this statement.)

You opened the door and were met with the sound of voices coming from your right, in the sitting room. Anthony and Mr. Moore were immersed in their discussion, a piece of paper full of notes in the former’s lap.

You placed the box in front of the older man and insisted he take one. Up close, his condition looked even worse. Dark circles, much more severe than Anthony’s, hung under his eyes. Wrinkles littered his face although the man could have been no older than twenty-five.

“Sir, I assure you that coming here to Lockwood and Co. was the best decision that you could have made. We will deal with this issue as soon as possible, and I hope that we are able to give you peace of mind.”

When Anthony spoke to clients, he tended to slip into a persona. He would play up his confidence and feign concern. But the sympathy that dripped from his words now was genuine, and you felt yourself worry for this Mr. Moore.

You settled down on the couch next to Lockwood. Anthony handed you your tea, which had a splash of milk and a small bit of honey, and he took his usual doughnut from you, which was filled with creme. The man gave a weary smile after finishing off a jam doughnut.

“Me and my love Elizabeth were just like you two,” he whispered, voice catching.

You sat a bit straighter on the couch.

Mr. Moore stood up, and Lockwood followed suit. “I assume that you can understand how I feel, son.”

“I understand completely,” agreed Anthony.

“Promise to take care of your love, Mr. Lockwood. Better than I took care of mine.”

The two of you responded at the same time.

“Oh, we aren’t-”

“I swear it.”

The two men shook hands before Lockwood directed him to the door.

You could do nothing but sit on the couch in shock. Anthony’s words echoed in your head.

I understand completely.

I swear it.

I understand completely.

I swear-

“It’s rather cold out. Were you fine on the walk to Arif’s?”

Anthony asked you this while pulling the scarf from around your neck and slinging it over the back of the couch. The words were sweet, and while his voice usually made you feel as happy as the tea he made you, you currently felt about as sick as Mr. Moore looked.

“Why did you say that?”

He looked taken aback for a moment before he pinched your side.

“Sorry, if it’s a crime to wonder if someone with Touch was about to get her fingers frozen off.”

“Not that,” you sighed, shrugging your jacket off. He took it from you and hung it up on another coat rack. “That thing you said to Mr. Moore. We aren’t… We aren’t lovers. Why didn’t you deny it?”

He stood as still as the rack he was in front of. He turned to face you with no sign of his Anthony Lockwood confidence on his face. It was a bit eerie. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments longer in silence. He pursed his lips before one of those fake smiles you hated to see took over.

“Just building rapport with the client.”

Your heart sank.

“Right.”

“The mutual understanding is good for-”

“I know, Lockwood.”

His fake grin seemed to flicker off his face at the use of his last name. He was always ‘Anthony’ to you. But Lockwood was who was standing in front of you now, having this conversation with you.

“I’m going to go get ready now,” you explained, shifting your weight awkwardly as you slipped past him out of the sitting room. You looked about ready to bolt away from him. “I assume we’re heading out in a few hours?”

He wanted to say something. Your fingers were already gripped tightly around the banister, your feet carrying you halfway up the first flight of steps.

What did you want him to tell you? That he was in love with you? That you were the first person he looked for when he walked into a room? That he did nothing but worry about you, wonder if you were okay, and desperately need you to be safe?

Instead, he nodded. “Yeah.”

You could do nothing but accept his response and wonder why it hurt so bad. You gave him one of your fake smiles, too, it only getting slightly genuine when you passed Lucy on her way down the steps. Lucy reached the bottom of the steps and her and Lockwood stared at each other for a few beats of silence.

“You’re even more dense than she is,” she complained, before making her way over to the box of sweets.

—

You were right to worry about Mr. Moore. Lockwood had explained it to you on the way over, his recap filling the silence of the cab instead of your usual joking. It was just the both of you. Lucy had planned months ago to go see Norrie today, and George had gone to do the much needed food shopping he had forgotten about in his haste yesterday.

Mr. Moore, or Leonard Moore, was now the only one living at 15 Ashburn Way. His wife, Elizabeth, had been murdered last week. The tragedy was a result of a rogue burglar that had struck her over the head before fleeing the scene. Leonard was away on a business trip and came back to find her body in their bedroom.

They had been childhood sweethearts and were married on Elizabeth’s twenty-first birthday. The lovely couple bought a nice house further away from the busy city, a home big enough to start a family in. She hadn’t been born with a Talent, but Leonard had. His gift of Sight was just now beginning to wear off, and every night after her death, her death-glow stayed beside Leonard, a harsh reminder of everything that happened.

Mr. Moore had no idea what the source could be, but her personal effects were all located in her bedside table on the second floor. He said that he saw Elizabeth early this morning. She was rageful and charged for him, Leonard narrowly being able to escape dying by Ghost Touch. The situation had utterly destroyed him.

“That’s tragic,” you mumbled. Poor Mr. Moore.

Lockwood went silent after your acknowledgment. He had been talking to you, but your lack of response the entire ride made it seem like he was talking to himself in an empty taxi. You had spent the better half of the cab ride staring out the window, watching the buildings get sparser and the greenery begin to take over as you neared the suburbs. You could see his face reflected in your window. He looked surprised at your response.

His call of your name was cut off by you turning to him abruptly. “We’re here.”

You slipped the cab driver his payment and as always, Lockwood beat you to opening your own door. You swore he could teleport.

The house was beautiful. It wasn’t too big or small, and you could see yourself wanting to live in a house like this in the future. It was in a nice, quiet neighborhood, too. The two of you smiled at a passing neighbor who wished you a good night.

Anthony seemed to read your mind. “It’s cute, isn’t it? I can see why they chose to live here.”

You couldn’t help but give him a real smile. “Yeah.”

The gate to the house was wide open, a testament to how fast Mr. Moore had left. The grass was neatly kept, although a little overgrown. A swing was hung from an oak tree in the front yard. Although they did not have any children, it was already on its way to becoming a picture perfect family home. You could picture little kids running around here and summer picnics in the grass. It all made you so unfathomably sad.

You were lagging behind. Lockwood had already climbed up the porch steps and was watching you look around the property. You knew he was just observing and not rushing you, but you couldn’t help but pick up your pace to join him.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said, adjusting your grip on your bag.

He blinked a bit sadly at you and a soft call of your name slipped past his lips.

Your stomach churned. You reached out to grasp him firmly by the wrist, the one without his watch on it. “Anthony, I know. We can talk about it later, alright? The sun is setting.”

He wanted to argue with you about it. It was written clear as day on his face. But he knew you had a job to do.

“Right.” With one final look at you, he slipped the house key into the door and pushed it open.

You shined your torch on the light switch, and flicked it on. The house burst into light, bringing life back into the home. Anthony looked at the thermostat.

“It’s broken.”

You shared a look before walking through the kitchen. At the table was leftovers for a meal for one.

A crunch could be heard under Anthony’s foot. A broken glass, the liquid once in it sitting around the debris. A knife was sitting uselessly on the ground a few feet away.

“Do you think he tried fighting back?” you asked quietly.

“Probably. Neither of them strike me as the kind to throw knives in their free time.”

No matter how upset you were with him earlier, there was no way that you would walk into a haunted house without listening to the plan first. The two of you walked straight up the wooden stairs as planned, each step creaking and protesting under your combined weight. Following Leonard’s directions to the bedroom, you were continuing down the hallway before Anthony caught your wrist.

“Do you hear that?”

You furrowed your brows. It was completely silent, save for the sound of your own breathing. You were about to respond when you heard it, too.

Crying. No, not crying. Wailing. Quiet gut wrenching sobs, that you could hear as loud as day, now.

But, you couldn’t really hear it. You could feel it. It was like the crying was coming from the walls, from the ground, and from all around you.

“You ready?”

He nodded and drew his rapier as you closed your eyes. You gingerly placed your hand on the wall, and sensed.

Using Touch felt like being suspended in open air.

It was like you were nowhere, but everywhere at the same time. After you came into contact with the wall, you began to see things. Flickers of the Moores’ life here. Them sharing a romantic dinner over the kitchen table. Them laughing in the living room. As you began to continue down the hallway, you could see more. The two of them fighting in the doorway, them kissing in front of the Christmas tree.

The source was definitely in the bedroom.

You opened your eyes.

Anthony was still behind you, and his sword shined under the fluorescents. You drew yours as well before nodding at their bedroom door. After a silent count of three, you pushed it open quietly.

The bedroom was in about the same state as the kitchen. One of the red curtains lay in a heap on the floor, clearly torn off. The sheets were unmade on the bed, and you could smell it before you saw it. Blood. Using the end of your weapon, you lifted the blanket off the bed. On the right side, a dark red puddle was soaked into the mattress. You covered up the stain, not wanting to look at it anymore.

The house was starting to get cold. A shiver went down your spine; she was near. You could feel Anthony’s warmth from behind you as you both dropped the kits so he could prepare the chains.

You moved towards the bedside table on the right, the net in hand. The top of it was completely empty, except for a single framed picture of Leonard and Elizabeth’s wedding day. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her white wedding dress, and her and her new husband were sharing a smile so full of love. Both of them deserved better.

Suddenly, the lights flickered before the room was plunged into total darkness. The new moon in the sky did nothing to help your case, and you and Anthony reached to turn on your torches.

“Looks like Lizzie doesn’t like us looking through her stuff,” he mused. “We have to go faster.”

“No, really?” you couldn’t help but fire back.

You gripped the handle of the top drawer and tugged it open. It was neat and ordered, totally unlike the rest of the house. You could feel the energy radiating out of the drawer, a pull strong enough that it felt like you were being drawn into it.

“Lockwood, the source, it’s… it’s definitely in here.”

“Good, keep looking.”

He was crouched down, lining the salt up in a circle around the both of you.

You began to reach for the trinkets inside the drawer, feeling the emotions and memories tied to each one. There was a wide range of them, some sad, but most were happy. You had touched her diary, a necklace, and a ticket to a carnival when you saw it. A box, tucked into the very back of the drawer. You reached for it, and brought it into the light of your torch. When you popped the top open, there sat a ring in the middle. A gorgeous diamond was embedded in the center of the box, and it seemed to shine even under the harsh light of your flashlight. It was beautiful. And then it was like the box was on fire.

You cursed, wildly, clutching your hand as you staggered back. It was like you were drunk. Unable to control your limbs, you flailed like a baby deer. You ended up on your back a few feet away from the drawer, your palm burning like somebody had pressed it to the inside of an oven.

Your vision was swimming in and out, and you were vaguely able to make out Anthony’s panicked face in front of you. He stepped out of the circle. Why did he step out of the circle? Your fading vision turned into black. Maybe you had passed out. But you could hear Anthony calling your name, and you could definitely feel the way your hand was aflame, the pain completely unbearable.

“Anthony… Anthony, I can’t see. It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

You could feel yourself wave your burning hand in front of your face, and fear gripped you by the throat. It was taking so much effort to breathe in and out. You couldn’t see anything. You reached out with your good hand and felt for him. Felt for anything. But your sense of Touch felt dialed up to one hundred. Touching the floor made you see nothing but Elizabeth slow dancing with Leonard here. Touching the wall behind you gave you a rush of euphoria, the memory of the couple painting their house together for the first time.

You could hear Anthony’s voice next to your ear. “I know, I know it hurts, but I need you to move. I’m sorry, I know.”

You could feel his quick breathing on your back as he attempted to control your limp body long enough to pull you to safety.

He dropped you somewhere on the floor, a bit roughly. You knew the circle was not intact, The chain and salt who knows where, now.

You could vaguely register yourself mumbling. Whether it was coherent or whether it was nonsense, you didn’t know. The overstimulation of the room didn’t let you think, your brain overloaded with nothing but memories and voices and feelings.

You felt hands on your face. You started to sweat. Fight-or-flight mode kicked in, and you decided to fight. You swung your fists at nothing, crying out in fear the entire time. Your hands were caught with ease, but then you heard his voice.

“It’s me, it’s Anthony, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you need to tell me where the source is, please.”

Calm flooded through you at the sound of his familiar voice. The recognizable way his words echoed in your ears gave you something to hold onto. You felt yourself grounded immediately.

“The… the box, there’s a… there’s a ring inside,” you managed to get out. But you could feel the way his hands slipped from his face and knew.

Elizabeth was here.

Your heart rate began to pick up. Anthony wouldn’t be able to fight her off and secure the source at the same time. You felt panic surge through you, the thought of your best friend fighting a Type Two alone, the thought of your best friend Ghost Locked. The thought of your best friend dead. The sounds of the shrieking ghost faded to the background, and you began to feel around the floor.

To save your best friend, you would have to push all of it away. You had to put your trust in Anthony to do his job, and get yourself to do yours. You fought Elizabeth’s memories that were rising to the surface, suppressing them completely. You blocked off every single thought and focused only on the mission before you.

Secure the source.

You shut your eyes and felt. You felt for the strength that coursed through you when you briefly touched the ring, and trusted your body to move. Your hand knocked against something hard, and you felt the unbearable warmth surround you again. Gritting your teeth, you picked it up one last time. White hot pain seared through you again, and you wanted nothing more than to drop the box. The ground shook with vibrations and his footsteps.

Anthony. You had to do this for Anthony.

If you had dropped the net near the bed it couldn’t be far now. You blindly reached out towards the vague area you thought it to be in, your arm going numb due to the sheer pain you were in. Your knee snagged on something, and you felt relief course through you. The net. You dropped the box on top of it and wrapped it clumsily, your arms shaking, and your right hand unable to move.

Then it was silent.

“Anthony?” you nearly sobbed.

Dread coursed through you.

No.

No, no, no, no.

You couldn’t hear yourself.

You cleared your throat and tried again.

“Anthony?” you yelled, screaming this time, uncaring of the poor, sweet neighbors nearby. Yet still you heard nothing. You put your hand to your heart and could feel it hammering wildly against your chest. You were alive. You were breathing, although unsteadily.

But was he?

Your unsteady breathing became hyperventilation.

You felt around blindly, moving further away from the bed and deeper into the room. Another wave of nausea hit you. It was stronger this time.

“Anthony, please.” You were begging now, begging for something. Anything. You could feel your mouth make the sounds but nothing was coming out. Your hands raked through your hair, tugging at the roots. You couldn’t hear and you couldn’t see, but you could feel. And you felt awful. Your body gave out a few feet from the door.

You felt warm, all of a sudden. Not warm like the heat of the source. But warm like falling asleep at the kitchen table and waking up with a blanket around you. Warm like wearing someone else’s jacket after you refused to bring one. Warm like Anthony. You wondered if this was what dying felt like. You stopped fighting.

Hands. Hands were on your back, you could feel them wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you up. Hands wrapping around your front, hands gripping your face. Your head lolled forward into something hard.

Cinnamon.

You smelled cinnamon.

You hiccuped.

“Anthony?” You tried again, knowing you would not hear it.

A hand sliding to the back of your head. Pulling you towards something warm and firm. A body. His body.

Cinnamon.

You were safe.

And you felt yourself slip out of consciousness.

—

You woke up seeing and hearing more than you would have liked.

Bright lights shone through your eyelids, and the steady beeping of monitors was quiet next to you. Your fingers twitched and the sound of a chair scraping the floor nearly exploded your ear drums. Reluctantly prying your eyes open, you were met with Lucy’s pretty face. Her hair was unbrushed and her bangs were pushed out of her face. Her jaw was hung open, her eyes wide as if she had just seen a ghost.

Ha.

“Luce-”

She surged forward to capture you in the tightest hug you’ve ever been a part of.

“You had us worried sick,” she sobbed into your hair. “Never do that again, do you understand?”

“I’ll try not to,” you whispered, not used to the sound of your voice again.

You pulled back far enough so you could give her a wet kiss on her cheek before she wrapped you in her arms again.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t believe you almost left me alone.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You smiled into each other's necks.

“I have to go tell Lockwood,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling back from the hug. “He’s been going insane.”

You nearly jolted up at the news.

“Is he alright?”

She nodded, pressing the button to call for a nurse.

“Physically, he’s all good. He had to get stitches on his arm and has a couple of bruises, but he was out of the hospital a week ago. Didn’t even have to stay the night.”

“A week ago?”

You sat back against your pillows, letting it sink in. You had lost consciousness for a week. Missed out on an entire week of your life.

Lucy nodded, before reaching for your left hand. A quick glance to your right one showed a thick layer of bandages over your palm, where you had held the box.

“We’ve had to wrestle Lockwood out of your room a few times. He’s barely been eating and sleeping, but seeing you awake will hopefully soothe his state of mind.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Poor Anthony, he had to deal with you in hysterics and the aftermath of the job. The door opening caused you and Lucy to look up, but seeing a doctor in the doorway instead of your best friend made you slouch.

“Don’t look so happy to see her,” teased Lucy, before she slipped from the room.

Dr. Anderson was very sweet. She checked you over and found everything to be perfectly fine, and even let George into the room when she saw him sitting outside. He brought you a plate of his best shirini morabai and updated you on everything that went on in the week you were gone.

Lockwood had taken to sitting by your bedside during every minute of visiting hour. It was quiet at Portland Row without you. Lockwood was apparently unbearable to be around, sleep deprivation and stress turning him sour. He would snap at people when they would do something as small as breathe too loudly or he would go silent altogether. Today was one of the rare days where the two of them could convince him to go home and function normally for a few hours before returning to the sterility of the hospital. Lucy went back to Portland Row to pick him up and would be back any minute now.

You were letting George take the last pastry when the door nearly slammed off its hinges. George stood up abruptly, getting ready to aim his plate at any violent attacker who stepped in.

It was only Lockwood.

You took him in for a second. His hair was disheveled and his tie hung loosely off his neck. His jacket was missing completely, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was cold. The dark circles that you had worked so hard to get rid of were back. Your feet were moving before your mind could tell them to, and you were yanking wires out of your arm.

You could hear George say, “You really shouldn’t have done that,” but you didn’t care.

Anthony was here. He was alive. And he was right in front of you.

You stood on unstable feet, and your first steps had your knees buckling. But it didn’t matter, because he had already crossed the room and swept you into his arms. He was warm.

“You’re… You’re okay,” he mumbled shakily into your skin. The two words took an insane amount of effort for him to choke out. The next four words came easier.

“You’re my best friend.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest, rattled by the sheer amount of love you had for him. “You’re mine too.”

Anthony’s next three words came even easier.

“I love you.”

It felt like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked all of the air out of the room.

“You what?” You pulled away from him, the shock painted all over your face. Your hands interlocked around his neck to steady yourself. You wondered if you were going to pass out again.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice steady. His hands slid down your back and went up to cup your face again and again, as if he needed proof you were real.

“I nearly lost you a week ago and never got the chance to say it. So, I’m telling you now.” He let out a deep breath before knocking his forehead against yours. “I love you. And I couldn’t sit here for another moment without you knowing.”

You laughed. Anthony’s heart did a triathlon in his chest.

“I love you too. I think I have for a while now. It was true five years ago and it’ll be true for the rest of my life,” you said, beaming directly at him.

He gave you a real, golden, and shining, Anthony Lockwood smile before leaning down and kissing you.

He smelled like cinnamon.

And everything was okay.

Do you write headcannons?

Hello,

Yes I do want to write headcannons do send me your request and I shall try my hardest to write for the same.

Saph ❤❤

do you write yandere stuff?

Hello there,

I do not write Yandere, but you can pop in another request that you may have in mind.

Saph ❤❤

Lovely little domestic prompts number 2 with WONWOO or jeonghan maybe?

I love your writing!!

eeee thank you so much for requesting!! I have a lil something planned for Wonwoo already but I haven't written for Jeonghan yet so I went with him! hope you enjoy ilyyyyy

word count: ~700

Jeonghan knows you think you’re being slick, pulling him in for a kiss just before he wanders into the island, running to grab a book for him so he doesn’t bump his elbow into the hard edge of the shelf, draping blankets over the back of the couch because he always winds up with bruises when he launches himself over the top. It’s true that he gets shy when people try to take care of him, would much rather be the one fussing than the one being fussed over, but he can’t say he minds when it’s you. 

He’s never felt like this before, never wanted someone to take care of him like this, until he met you. You’re just too perceptive for your own good, always noticing when he holds his arm a bit differently or when his hip feels tender or when his back is bruised in the same line as the edge of the couch. In the beginning, Jeonghan really didn’t notice what you were doing, and he had to hand it to you because normally, he’s the one secretly protecting people. He keeps it a secret because he has to maintain his couldn’t care less image, but he assumes you stay sneaky because you think he’ll be annoyed that you’re babying him. 

And maybe that’s how he would’ve seen it, if it was anyone but you. Anyone but you, who makes sure all of your friends have a ride home at the end of the night, you, who orders dinner to the office when they’ve all been working for hours with no break, you, who always asks the quiet ones what they were saying when they’ve been interrupted. 

How could he be annoyed when you’re the one who sees how much Mingyu shrinks when they’re being just a bit too mean, and leap in to defend him? You’re the one who notices when Minghao starts pulling away, needing some space, and provide a distraction so he can escape without questions. You’re the one who can differentiate between regular Soonyoung behavior and when he’s actually excited about something, and always give him your full attention, never realizing how Soonyoung glows after. You’re the one who can tell when Jihoon is nervous to show them a song, and as soon as he looks away, you glare at all of them to make sure they know too. You’re the one who keeps every bracelet and necklace Shua makes you, you’re the one who listens to Wonwoo whenever he reaches a new level in his game and is excited to tell someone, you’re the one who watches Chan’s new choreo with rapt attention and applaud before he’s even done panting. 

You’re just a natural caregiver, it’s who you are, and Jeonghan wouldn’t change you for anything. 

Not when you care for his friends just as much, if not more, than he does. Especially not when you’re one of the only people who can take care of him without making him feel babied. 

So, when his chopsticks roll off the table and he ducks down to get them, he doesn’t bother worrying about hitting his head on the way up, because he knows your hand will be there. And there it is, he thinks, feeling his hair brush over your fingers and looking over to see you still in conversation with Cheol. It must be instinctual by now, your drive to keep him safe, and Jeonghan can’t stop himself from grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and pressing a kiss to your skin. He doesn’t see a reason to stop himself, not when you look over at him with a small smile, squeezing his hand in yours, and lean down to press a quick kiss to his shoulder. 

Jeonghan doesn’t thank you out loud, knows that’ll make you nervous and shy, but he has his own ways of showing his appreciation. And if some of those ways are just as enjoyable for him as they are for you, well, that’s his business.

i’m seeking revenge, what about you?

synopsis : after the great war of decline, the republic of andromeda made a way for the holy empire of montefeltro. after distinguishing yourself on the battlefield, you became a marshal of the empire, known to be the hero who put an end to the war. despite all the glory and fame, you seemed to be unable to get over your brother’s death. but one day, you discover that his death was a smokescreen. as you’re going into further investigations to put lights on his murder, you’re followed by the most infamous assassin of the empire. when he tells you he only wishes for its downfall, you both realise you’re seeking the same goal : revenge. but will you be able to work with him?

pairing : assassin!jeonghan x marshal!reader

genre : e2l, your family name is jeon but none physical description, wonwoo is your brother, you-want-to-kiss-me-so-bad energy, some suggestive jokes, very inaccurate military setting im only here for the vibes, tw : blood, death, swearing, war

word count : 8k w

a/n : i was so so excited to write this fic so i hope you’ll like it!! i had the purple hyacinth as inspo which is probably one of my fav webtoon. this is the longer version of this post

jeon y/n. 

all over the holy empire, this name resonated as the one of a hero, even a goddess for some. the strongest sword fighter of the country and the brightest mind among the armed forces. the youngest soldier of all time appointed as a marshal who prevented thousands of death. the scariest military whose strategies never failed and managed to kill the leader of the opposing country, taking down an important part of the army by herself. the current leader of the district of orpheus, the biggest of the whole empire, dubbed by the emperor himself. 

but the truth was, you were far from a goddess.

as you wandered into the city, you wondered how you could be so surrounded and so lonely in the same time. yes you managed to save hundreds of civilians, yes you killed the leader of the empire of lupus all by yourself, yes your chest was now covered with golden medals and bows, but you also hadn’t been strong enough to save your brother, the most important person in your life. and now, as his death dated back to the beginning of the war, you couldn’t help but ponder if this hadn’t been staged.

you weren’t being delusional nor naively hopeful : all the techniques you learnt as a soldier came from wonwoo. he used to be a major general, if you had survived, he should have done the same. but he died in a blaze provoked by an explosion while protecting civilians. if you didn’t doubt his altruism nor his abilities, you doubt that he would have been careless enough to be trapped by the flames. but you didn’t have any evidence of your theory nor any support to rely on. 

and, as you finally reached his former shared apartment, you started to remember how lonely you were. 

hypnotised by the smoke from your hot chocolate, you looked away awkwardly, trying to find an interesting topic of conversation, in vain. before you, mingyu cleared his throat, stirring his coffee mindlessly. after giving a glance at the cardboard box between you, he murmured :

"i think you won’t need to come by, this was the last box with his things."

nodding slowly, you noticed a picture of your brother and you when you were younger. stretching your arm, you grabbed it and skimmed your brother’s face softly. 

"it feels like yesterday," you sighed.

"you were so young by then," mingyu added fondly.

the photography had been taken by your former instructor at the high court of the republic when wonwoo had been nominated major general. you remembered this day clearly : you went to the florist in order to buy him the prettiest bouquet ever and bragged about his promotion all day long to your colleagues. but how could you not? when he was the youngest major general of the republic? wonwoo had raised you since his tenth birthday and worked harder than anyone else. he became your role model the moment your parents left this side of the world and you knew this nomination was only the proof of all his resilience. he was twenty four and you were twenty one. today, you were twenty five but he was still twenty four. and today, you were the one being praised as the youngest marshal of the empire.

shaking your head to erase those memories from your mind, you locked your gaze into your brother’s former roommate and right hand-man before starting carefully :

"do you… do you remember anything he said before…"

"i know what you’re about to say and the answer is still the same, mingyu cut, visibly trying to keep his composure, wonwoo didn’t say anything."

"but-"

"there is no but y/n, the young man insisted, wonwoo’s death was an accident. he was a soldier y/n, a fucking soldier. you need to understand that and stop clinging desperately to his death. you won’t find anything."

clenching your fists, you retorted coldly :

"he wasn’t an ordinary soldier, he was a major general! he was better than any of us, a simple fire wouldn’t have been enough. i can’t believe that and i can’t believe you accept it so easily!"  

"i’m accepting it because it’s the truth!"

"this- this can’t be the truth, i refuse to believe it."

standing up abruptly, you gathered your belongings and grabbed the box vehemently, mingyu on your heels. 

"y/n listen," mingyu started, trying to reach your wrist.

getting your wrist out of his grip, you asked him with a dirty look :

"listen to what? i’ve heard enough and i don’t think we have anything to say to each other anymore."

"but wonwoo said-"

"wonwoo asked you to take care of me i know, you cut sharply, but i am the marshal here, i don’t need your help to prove that his death is everything but normal."

storming out without a single glance behind, you left, the picture held close to your heart.

swiping a tear away, you murmured softly :

"hi wonwoo, how are you today?"

placing a crown of flowers on the stone, you started to remove diligently the old one and change the water of the vase.

"i finally got all your belongings back. i even found the picture from your nomination which was allegedly lost, you little rascal."

sitting down, your back against his grave, you played with your pendant -a simple medallion minted with a sun, wonwoo’s gift when you entered into the republican military school- instinctively before grabbing a case from your bag, the one about your brother’s death.

cause yes, if the name jeon y/n resonated as the one of a hero in the whole empire, it also resonated with the one of the girl who couldn’t accept her brother’s death, the major general jeon wonwoo. out of pity, when the procedure had been closed despite all your testimonies and pleads for advanced examinations, your colleagues in charge of his case had given you his folder, hoping it’d help you to get over it. 

but you didn’t. instead, you looked at the different records and papers daily, looking for something, anything, that would prove that your reticence wasn’t irrational. but, after a whole year of incomplete and fruitless researches, you had to admit you were as lost as day one. 

when you opened your eyes, you felt a pain near the back of the neck. studying little by little each of your senses, you finally noticed that you were still in the graveyard and had fallen asleep against wonwoo’s stone. slowly massaging your neck, you saw around you the different elements of the case. letting your eyes linger on each pictures seen and seen again to make sure none of them flew with the wind, your blood froze when one of them went past your field of vision. it was wonwoo’s lungs. the shot wasn’t clear but you were absolutely sure : there wasn’t any soot. yet, you had read it in a book Costagliola R, Telmon N, Duguet AM, Rougé D. Ann Burns Fire Disasters. the absence of soot means that the person didn’t breath the gas generated by the flames and the forensic expert has to conclude that the person wasn’t alone when their body had been burnt to ashes. but if there wasn’t soot in wonwoo’s lungs… it necessarily meant that he didn’t inhale the smoke. and, if he didn’t inhale the smoke from the fire, the only reason that could explain this was that wonwoo was dead before he could even inhale them. but it wasn’t possible, right? he had been devoured but the flames and struggled. he had necessarily breathed the smoke. there should be soot, even a infinitesimal quantity, unless… unless the report about his death was wrong. unless the persons in charge of the dossier lied. unless the persons behind his death changed it.

the following week, you presented yourself at the imperial palace. today was the last day of the month and, like each and every month, a meeting was held, gathering the emperor and the heads of the five districts of the empire. to you, this kind of conference was a hassle but you couldn’t deny that the population liked it, seeing it as a way to feel close to the army and to gossip about the famous figures of the government, making them forget in the same time about the astronomical amount of money spent on a single day. plus, it came along at just the right time to help you in your progress. even if you had managed to prove that wonwoo’s death wasn’t an accident, it was far from being enough. you had to find culprits and make them suffer.

arriving near the golden gate, the immense railings were already wide opened for you. sometimes, popularity wasn’t all that bad. you didn’t even have to introduce yourself that two guards were already welcoming you, in order to accompany you to the hall where the meeting was held. 

sat in the middle of the marble table, your gaze embraced the little assembly composed of the five leaders of the districts. thus, by your left side was positioned kwon soonyoung from atalanta’s district, a marshal well known for his overwhelming strength. next to him was sat hong jisoo odysseus’ districts, a sly major general with angelic features. by your right side and already bickering with soonyoung was seated boo seungkwan from otrera’s district, a major general who wore his heart on his sleeves. and finally, sitting down at the other side of the table was chwe hansol from perseus’ district, the most phlegmatic general you ever met. 

after ten minutes, the emperor finally appeared : choi seungcheol, the son of the former emperor who had taken the power when the republic fell because of the war. his father had been assassinated and seungcheol had replaced him, receiving in the same time all the golden laurels of victory. the young man greeted the five of you before sitting down right in front of you. ultimately, his closest advisor, lee jihoon, arrived in the hall and seungcheol invited him to open the session. the advisor executed himself, the most unreadable expression on his features. 

everything went under jihoon’s expert gaze, from the crime levels to the economy of each district as well as the popularity level. if you didn’t see this usefulness of such a huge gathering when you could simply send a written report to jihoon, you liked to analyse his point of view and the criticisms he gave were admirable : short, effective and objective. you always wondered why the young man never enrolled in the army because of his skills and knowledges. wonwoo used to be his friend during high school before they went on their way, one alongside the future emperor, the other in the army. but, despite jihoon’s precious work, this meeting was, admittedly, a waste of time but it also gave you a huge opportunity to find clues linked to wonwoo’s murder. indeed, old informations and archives were all stored in the imperial archives. hence, if your enemies weren’t high ranked soldiers, they wouldn’t have been able to reach this room to falsify their names. you felt that, after a whole year during which people looked at you with nothing but pity when you talked about your brother, you finally got closer to the truth, therefore, you couldn’t help but shake your leg under the table, excitement and pressure fighting inside you.

at the end of the meeting, orpheus’ district ranked first for the fifth consecutive time and, as usual, you received praises from your colleagues which you swept away with a swing of the hand.

"i’m only doing my job," you assured. 

usually, this announce would bring you pride and a little bit of vanity, especially when you knew how exceptional your colleagues were. but right now, despite your competitive nature, your mind was far from caring about some race between districts. instead, you were already planning on running to the next step of your investigation. 

when midday rang, everyone started to stand up in order to join the big banquet usually held for the day. speeding yourself, you caught the emperor up and excused yourself :

"i’m sorry my emperor but i’m awaited at my district, i won’t be able to attempt the meal although i am truly grateful for this event."

"it’s okay, marshal jeon, the young man assured, thank you for your presence and your amazing results, up to your reputation as always."

after a final bow, you left the huge reception not without noticing the weird look jihoon addressed you and the strange feeling inside you. 

slowly walking to prevent any sound of your presence in the huge corridors, you finally reached the next step of your journey : the imperial archives. the impressive door of polished oak tree was crowned with the latin expression acta, non verba written in gold, the motto of the holy empire. you found it kinda funny to put such an adage at the entrance of a place like archives. shaking your head to erase those thoughts, you started to walk through the different aisles.

with a groan, you finally managed to reach the top of the shelf. the archives were stored a huge room and, despite the irreproachable tidying of the place, finding a five years old record was harder than what you predicted. hence, after finding the right aisle and the right shelving, you had discovered that, because he died in january, wonwoo’s file was on the twelfth level.

"why didn’t you die in december woo? or better, why didn’t you die at all?" you had mumbled before looking around for a ladder.

but now, as you heart started to beat faster, you knew you weren’t far from your goal. sitting down in a corner of the room, you opened the folder, a hand on your pendant, when your hopeful smile dropped : despite the death certificate and the witnesses’s testimonies, the file was empty. you were back to square one. sighing deeply, you reasoned yourself. if your brother’s register was empty, it only meant that his murderer was way more influential than what you anticipated and probably more powerful than your brother. 

while you were replacing the different boxes that helped you to reach his record, you heard an almost inaudible sound. your entire body froze on the spot and, after five long seconds, you walked toward the doors of the archives. suddenly, a shadow appeared in front of you. pulling your sword out swiftly, you got out of room.

"oh my god y/n don’t scare me like that!" the stranger screamed. 

lowering your blade, you found a frightened soonyoung and an unfazed hansol.

"oh, sorry soonyoung, i got scared," you joked sheepishly.

"it’s okay y/n, i kinda deserved it," the major general added.

"note to myself, never scaring you ever," hansol teased.

"what are you still doing here anyway? weren’t you supposed to go back to your brigade? did you have something to look at in the archives?" the older man asked, overwhelming you with questions.

"well, i was but… something came up, you quickly answered before retorting, but what about you? you should be enjoying the astronomical buffet, shouldn’t you?"

"we were, but jihoon asked us to go get him his planner."

preventing yourself from raising your eyebrows in surprise at hansol’s dubious explaining, you content yourself with a single nod, perfectly aware that the advisor would rather die than letting someone getting their hands on his planner. with a laugh, you cut the conversation short :

"great, then i’ll leave you there. see you next month!"

"yeah, see you and again, congrats for the first place," hansol complimented.

"yes, you really are the greatest! soonyoung cheered, not many people could pull off first place five times in a row, but nothing new from a jeon, right?"

and, after a giggle, you turned around and walked away, your smile fading away instantly.

walking toward your apartment, you looked up in order to recover your concentration. the moment you had left the imperial palace, you had felt a presence in your back. the moment your foot was on the pavement to the moment you were sat in the chair of your office, you had felt those two piercing eyes and now, as you were finally going home, you felt them again, lying in wait and ready to attack at the slightest opportunity. 

this little game carried on for a entire week, forcing you to change your opinion on your mysterious hunter. thus, what you mistook as miscalculation was actually made on purpose. you also had to admire the abilities of the person who was following you. they certainly weren’t an amateur, being able to chase you without any interruption for so long. you easily guessed that they intentionally made their presence known, as if they wanted you to feel like a trapped animal. but they underestimated you. if they wanted a mistake, it wouldn’t come from you. you were a marshal and started like every soldier enrolled into the former republic military school. you were used to track someone and were even more used to being tracked. if you wanted this hunt to end, it’d be with a confrontation. 

hence, after checking with a quick glance that the street was empty, you stopped in your tracks. 

"don’t you think this little game lasted long enough? come show me your face now, unless you’re too much of a coward," you whispered with a mocking tone.

you were about to think that your mocking wasn’t enough until you felt the switch in the air. the moment the blade struck, you drew your sabre to block the attack, a smirk on your lips. teasing was such an easy way. 

"do you actually realise that attacking me isn’t a classic infraction?" you asked with disdain.

following the weapon with the eyes, you responded with an offensive and managed to disarm your opponent. pushing them against the wall, you hit them in the stomach.

"tell me who you are now," you ordered, your blade against his throat.

that’s when your assailant’s hood fell from their head. your heart missed a beat when his delicate features appeared, his beautiful brown hair slightly messy. and when your eyes met, you instantly knew who it was : yoon jeonghan, the greatest assassin of the entire empire. your enemy must be really powerful to be able to afford his services.

"i am your worst nightmare," the young man introduced himself with a seductive smile.

"you are an absolute pain in the ass," you deadpanned.

this wasn’t what you expected but might be your lucky day after all : if this man was at your heels, it meant you weren’t far from the responsible persons behind wonwoo’s death. plus, being able to catch this assassin would be an amazing help for the entire empire.

"it kills me to tell you this but, as a citizen of the montefeltro empire, you are holder of the right to remain silent and have access to a lawyer. you’ll be heard by a fair trial for your act-"

"-ions and will be able to receive an adjudication from an impartial judge," jeonghan completed.

"it seems you knew your fall was near," you teased, arching an eyebrow.

"maybe, but before you’re doing anything, i’d advice you to listen to me."

"and why would i listen to the most searched assassin of the empire?"

"because i am seeking revenge, just like you. i want this whole ridiculous system to collapse and i want to attend it in the front row."

"again, why would i listen to you? you’re not a trustworthy person," you observed.

"because you have nobody else to talk to and because everyone here can have a blade behind their back," jeonghan replied with a smirk.

"so? you mumbled, what makes you think you’re any different from them?" 

"because my blade is right in front of you, sweetheart, and i swear i won’t use it on you. plus, i can provide you inestimable help," the young man retorted.

bitting your lips, your slight hesitation was enough for him to grab you tightly by the shoulders and switch your positions. your back hit the wall because of the abruptness of his movements but his hands wrapped themselves around your neck, preventing your head to do the same. widening your eyes, you couldn’t even curse you for losing your focus that you already felt his grip dropping.

"don’t you want to know who you’re truly working for, marshal jeon?" jeonghan asked.

giving him a death stare, you let go of your sabre and sighed. realistically, he wasn’t wrong. he was untrustworthy, just like everyone else in the empire for the moment. you didn’t have a single track or clue and didn’t know who was your ally or your enemy. he might represent everything you work against but he was also your best option for the time being.

"i work with you. but i’m warning you : if you ever betray me, your head will be rolling on the floor."

"you make it sounds so romantic," the brown hair man teased with a smirk.

and, as his silhouette started to fade into the darkness of the night, you didn’t know if you just started to dig your own grave.

the following day at your brigade felt like a whole nightmare. everyone became a potential enemy and you started to make a list of the persons you suspected before starting to be racked by guilt. they were your colleagues, your subordinates and, for some of them, old classmates. contemplating them as targets didn’t feel right. but, as jeonghan’s words resonated inside your head, you couldn’t even refute him. everyone can carry a blade behind their back because, as far as you went, you never trusted anyone else than your brother and your instincts, remorse shouldn’t change that. and now that he wasn’t here anymore, you could only count on your guts and a dubious assassin. 

twisting your pendant pensively, you didn’t even flinch when a shadow entered into your office. giving a death stare to the young assassin slouched into your sofa, you groaned :

"would you at least remove your dirty shoes from my sofa? velvet is a living hell to clean."

"i didn’t picture you as the inflexible type," jeonghan retorted with an arched eyebrow.

grabbing a blade on your desk, you sent it toward his face. without much effort, the young man caught it midair and you repeated :

"i said, remove your shoes from my sofa."

"no wonder you’re still single," he replied with an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

when the young man finally executed himself, you observed :

"i hope you’re not here to debate about my relationship status because i actually have a lot of work and not a lot of spare time to grant you so make it quick."

"i prefer when it lasts at least three rounds but i can make an exception for you, doll."

the moment you raised your second dagger, jeonghan chuckled, his hands up in the air as if he was surrounding :

"okay okay i get it, no more jokes about what’s going on under the blanket."

straightening his posture, the atmosphere of the room dropped when he locked his gaze in yours.

"i hope you know we’re inevitably going to kick over the traces, marshal, he started, our adversaries aren’t just some high ranked members of the armed forces but the government as a whole."

"what do you mean?" you asked, slowly swallowing. 

sure you knew you were going after the big fishes after your investigation in the imperial archives, but you didn’t except that the entire government would have been involved. 

"the great war of decline was a mere pretext for seungcheol’s father and his partisans to organise a coup d’état and overthrow the republic."

your eyes widened at his words. no… this couldn’t be true?

"you… you’re saying that they started the war just to hide their coup and cover it up as a legal take-over? they sacrificed thousands of lives for some power?" you guessed, unable to hide your anger.

"power is an inestimable thing, marshal, jeonghan retorted, even ordinary people would kill their neighbours for some more influence."

bitting your lips before moistening them, you sighed, resigned :

"okay, so be it, our whole empire is built on lies and corpses, but in what way is it linked to wonwoo?"

"i think wonwoo was involved in this total venture."

"what did you say?" you asked, tightening the grip on your guard.

the next second, the both of you were above your desk, you sabre at the base of his jaw and his dagger pointing at your heart. glaring at him, you carried on :

"are you implying that my brother is linked to the coup d’état which is responsible of the fall of an entire outsider country and the deaths of thousands of innocents? i advice you to be careful with your words, yoon."

"i’m not foolish enough to bring the wrath of the youngest marshal of the empire," the young man whispered sweetly.

acting as one, you both dropped your weapons but you insisted :

"wonwoo would never have been alongside the silent partner of this plot. my brother was a honest man inherently good. i’m sure there is another reason to explain his death." 

"maybe, but you can’t put aside the fact that he was somehow involved, even the hypothetical idea of him being a spy for another organisation is worth considering."

when your gaze darken, he hastily added grumpily :

"i’m talking to you as a fair and impartial judge, marshal, not to the little sister who idolises her brother."

"please, don’t tell me you’re jealous of my admiration for my brother," you scoffed.

"and what if i was?" jeonghan answered back.

"then i’d definitely tell you that it shouldn’t affect you this much. i’m a marshal, remember? your entire existence is what i working against."

you thought that he’d come back with another witty barb but couldn’t help but raised your eyebrows in surprise when his smirk flattened.

"you sure have a smart mouth, marshal," were his last words before he flew outside the window, as furtively as when he came in. 

you didn’t even get the time to say a word that, at the same moment, a knock on your door rang out.  

for the second time in a row, you waited eagerly for the next meeting at the imperial palace. now that you knew you had to deal with hugest problems than what you originally envisaged. you had hoped this matter would have stay within the corps of the imperial armed forces. this place was an absolute playground for you. since soonyoung and you were the only marshals of the empire, the fact that you were one of the two holder of the highest-ranking title in the military hierarchy made you practically untouchable. you wouldn’t have had any issue finding the responsible of wonwoo’s death and would have executed them on the spot. but if this mess also involved state officers, this would be way harder. 

thus, when your district ranked first for the sixth time consecutively, you received praises and compliments with a bright smile and, when people called you marshal jeon, it felt like they were applauding both your brother and you. you wanted to laugh hysterically at their hypocrisy and execute them all but you knew better than to act hastily. you couldn’t kill anyone yet as long as their guilt hadn’t been exposed. 

when the little assembly left for the traditional banquet, you sped up to catch on jihoon. he was your first suspect after seungcheol and you needed to get closer to him. you managed to be seated next to him during the whole meal. despite his cold features and stern gaze, jihoon and you used to get along well. as the most efficient soldier, jihoon had recognised your worth a long time ago and your conversations had gone past niceties. he had even invited you numerous times at chess game parties you all had rejected in the past. but now, things had changed. hence your eager response when the young advisor suggested a chess game after lunch. 

"i’d be more than grateful to share a game with you, advisor lee," you had answered.

"oh please, y/n, you can call me jihoon after all this time," the young man had assured.

"we both know each other since ages and you always refuse me calling you jihoon," soonyoung, who had been eavesdropped, had groaned.

"that is because you’re infuriating and noisy," jihoon had deadpanned before inviting you to follow him in his office.

sat face to face, you couldn’t ignore the tension in the room when you asked, as you moved the first piece :

"do you remember much about wonwoo?"

you instantly guessed than jihoon knew that your unusual consent for a chess game was led by some other kinds of motivations than the pleasure of competition and that your question was far from the one he had expected. he finally answered after moving his pawn :

"wonwoo was an exceptional soldier and a great friend during high school time. we were more similar than i thought at first and, as time passed by, i became comfortable in his presence. we only parted ways because we had different ambitions."

"wonwoo was really secretive so i’ve never heard a lot about his time in high school, you confessed, he only accepted to tell me anecdotes from the republican military school because i wanted to go there too."

"that’s funny how you both decided to take the same path. and to be as remarkable as the other," the young man praised.

"like brother like sister, i guess. i’ve always walked not so far away from wonwoo’s footsteps."

your remark hit the nail on the head and jihoon raised his cold gaze to meet your eyes.

"are you implying something else, y/n?"

"why? do you feel threatened?" you responded with a sweet smile.

"if i were you, i’d be more careful about my surroundings and start being concerned about the things i should and shouldn’t follow."

a heavy silence followed his words and, after moving your queen, you chuckled :

"i don’t know what you’re talking about, jihoon, i was only referring to chess. wonwoo used to win so many tournaments, just like i did. and now, i made a checkmate."

colours left jihoon’s already pale face and the young man giggled shakily :

"i think i got carried away, sorry y/n. this was a very interesting game, come back again when you have some time to kill, okay?"

"oh it’d be an incommensurable pleasure, you assured, but before that, i need to eliminate a bigger problem."

and just like that, you left the room, your queen and bishop surrounding jihoon’s king. 

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" 

this were the first words jeonghan addressed after three weeks without seeing each other. sometimes, you felt his gaze on your back but, as time went on, you got used to his presence, making your life less lonely. but the moments his eyes weren’t on you anymore, you had the bitter reminder that jeonghan was an assassin who had to kill for a living and that your feeling of company was just an illusion. he was -for lack of better words- your partner, nothing more, nothing less.

but right now, as your back was pressed against the wall of the dirtiest alley and jeonghan’s blade on your jaw, the overall climate wasn’t right for sentimentality. flames were burning in his piercing gaze but, despite his anger, you noticed he still placed his hands behind the back of your neck to prevent your head from hitting the wall. 

locking your gaze in his, you answered :

"i’m threatening this whole system, isn’t it what you wanted?"

"i asked for revenge, he corrected, not for you to be killed like wonwoo and m-"

"i won’t get killed, you cut, if you want things to move, you need to take actions. words won’t change a single thing."

"i know but it doesn’t mean you have to be reckless, we have plenty of time."

"probably but it’s by catching them off guard that we’ll win," you argued.

"maybe, but theoretically i’m still contractually linked to them. i don’t want them to understand that i’m involved with your little schemes."

"if you’re unhappy with my methods, you’re free to go find another marshal thirsty for revenge and the truth," you mocked, opening your arms. 

"you really are the must stubborn marshal i’ve ever met," jeonghan chuckled while brushing his hair with his hand.

lowering his gaze on your lips, you breathed shakily. you hated this silly reaction and, after striking his chest with your fist to hide the blush on your cheeks, you replied with a pout :

"i thought you knew where you were getting yourself into."

"yet, i still didn’t get to be into you."

"and for the record, i actually don’t give a damn about my safety, which shouldn’t be your personal concern," you added, struggling to ignore his remark.

"it shouldn’t but, despite everything, it is. so please, be careful."

the seriousness and the controlled anger in his tone surprised you but, you didn’t even get the time to tease him about it that he was already walking away.

"but go on, do whatever your pretty face wants. i know i won’t manage to convince you and i never fight for anyone else anyway."

rolling your eyes at the pet name, you decided to walk toward wonwoo’s apartment. 

who knows? maybe you’d be able to find more evidences. if wonwoo managed to guess that the war had been planned in order to hide a coup d’état, he might have left some evidences or clues to help you. with a sigh, you frowned at the idea that your brother was fighting on his own and didn’t tell you a single word about it. and you felt even more miserable for having been unaware of his private investigations. what you told jihoon was the truth, your brother was an evasive person. he didn’t tell you much, always going by the motto that actions speak louder than words but still, you wished he let you into the secret. and now, you were in the dark.

apparently, you were in the dark and rather rusty because, you didn’t noticed the presences behind your back until you reached wonwoo’s old apartment. waiting for mingyu to open the door, you drew your sabre when the familiar clicking of the blade echoed before striking. 

"you’re more careless than i thought, soonyoung."

in front of you were standing soonyoung, a wide grin across the face, and jihoon, his face as unreadable as ever. your blades banged into one another and you asked with a derisive tone :

"to what do i owe the honour?"

"it seems like our promising little marshal is peering her nose into something that is far from her business," the other marshal teased back.

"a matter that is way too crucial for her understanding," jihoon added with a somber look.

"sure, the death of thousands and the establishment of an illegitimate empire is indeed very crucial," you mocked.

in the same time, the door behind you opened. after a quick glance, you ordered to mingyu :

"mingyu stay inside! you aren’t safe here."

"why do you say that?"

your blood pressure dropped when he continued, his voice dramatically changed from concern to satisfaction :

"they are my friends, i have no reason to be scared. you on the other hand…"

you only got the time to turn around when you receive a brutal blow on the temple and darkness took over.

when you opened your eyes, you felt the same pain in the back of your neck you had felt a month ago at wonwoo’s grave. your head was pounding like crazy and your arms and feet were tied up to a tree. you could feel the ground underneath you and, after noticing the humid air and on your pants, you guessed they brought you far away into the woods. 

"well well well, it seems the pretty doll is finally awake," a voice cooed on your left.

slowly opening your eyes, you mumbled :

"you could at least have the decency to put a pillow under my butt, those uniforms are a living hell to clean."

"you wanna outsmart us now, you insufferable little brat?" mingyu giggled, the full height of his height crushing you. 

"what about you? you are a fucking traitor! wonwoo trusted you and you betrayed him for some power? you asked disdainfully, please, i don’t want to outsmart you, there isn’t any competition."

mingyu scoffed at your words and started to deride your brother :

"wonwoo was an idiot. brilliant, kind, strong but an idiot. he really fooled us until the end but then…"

putting a hand on his face, he scoffed haughtily and a wide grin appeared on his face when he kept going :

"i didn’t betray him, he shot himself in the foot. your brother was clever but so stupid, typical behaviour from a hero. the day he was about to ruin everything, i found him in his room. he never ever questioned my allegiance to some idealistic values and had the intention to leave me a letter, a letter." 

coming closer, he grabbed your chin between his fingers and mocked :

"he was telling me that he understood that the empire was responsible for the war and did it to hide their coup. he knew he was going to die and asked me to keep you safe, do you believe that? when i would be the one to execute him."

a raging scream escaped your lips and you tried to free yourself from the shackles, soonyoung’s laugh ringing in your ears. 

"you’re a pathetic piece of garbage, you shoot, how could you possibly betray and kill your friend? you deserve to root in hell, you fucking coward!"

instantly, you received a blow in your right cheek and another in the belly. aversion twisted your stomach when you felt his hand gentle stroking your head.

"you know, i don’t take a great deal of pleasure in this, mingyu scolded you, you were like a little sister to me, i really wanted to protect you. but you had to believe in your brother’s abilities and stick your nose into someone else’s business."

his warm smile dropped immediately to show the cruelest expression you ever saw on mingyu’s face. an expression you never thought you’d ever see at all.

"you really do look like your brother. wonwoo had the same face when i killed him."

when mingyu got up in order to grab you didn’t even know what, you started to look around desperately. panic started to spread all over your body when you realised that you couldn’t see anything but mist and trees as far as your eyes could see. when the sound of the blade against the sheath, you knew this was the end. 

you wouldn’t be able to escape. you wouldn’t be able to show the truth to the world. you wouldn’t be able to get revenge for wonwoo and bring the truth on his death. when mingyu lifted his blade, your last thought was about jeonghan and his insufferable grin. he’ll probably make fun of your recklessness when the news of your death will come out. closing your eyes, you scoffed internally, unable to believe that he was the last person in your mind before dying. 

but the pain never came. instead, a croaky scream escaped mingyu’s lips. opening your eyes, you discovered with terror a blade stabbing his heart. a single drop of blood fell on your face and, the next moment, your arms were free. 

"j- jeonghan?" you murmured incredulously.

"you can kiss me when we’ll get out of here, sweetheart, but now i need you to help me kill those two bastards," the young man answered, trowing a sword toward you.

catching it midair, you ran toward soonyoung. you were still disoriented by how things turned out but this wasn’t the time for questions. thankfully, you hadn’t been the first one to be confused by jeonghan’s arrival. soonyoung stopped your blade in extremis with the sheath of his sword before pushing you away with his foot.

"i’ve always wanted to face up the youngest marshal of the empire," the young man laughed.

"then this is your lucky day : you will face her and die from her hand."

launching yourself straight toward him, the sounds of the blades knocking together resonated in the woods. taking a deep breath, you swept away the sweat on your forehead and fought back again. soonyoung’s endurance was the no match against the five leaders of the districts but your technique was beyond his. all the times he managed to dodge your attacks occurred thanks to his strength core and his agility. but he’ll get tired quicker than you.

from the back of your head, you could hear jeonghan and jihoon’s confrontation and you had to force yourself to prevent yourself from looking at him. jeonghan was an amazing fighter but the young advisor wasn’t outdone.

finally, you managed to make soonyoung fall. sending his sword far away, you straddled his torso and blocked his arms. 

"you fucking bitch," the young man groaned while struggling.

striking the pommel of your sword to knock him down, you growled :

"this one is for my abduction."

and finally, as you hammered your sword in his heart, you added :

"and this one is for wonwoo."

still on soonyoung’s corpse, you couldn’t lift any finger. your state surprised you as much as it upset you. you had gone on the battlefield, you had killed thousands of soldiers and almost got abducted once but hadn’t been as miserable as now. a reassuring hand stroked your hair softly and jeonghan whispered :

"it’s finally over."

raising your head, your gaze was still lost when you asked :

"why did you save me? i thought you never fought for anyone else."

"’cause i don’t. but you’re not anyone else, you’re the other half of me."

a tear started to roll on your cheek at his words. and another. tears were rolling down like a river while jeonghan’s fingers rushed themselves to heal your bruises and cuts. 

"after i drop you at your apartment, i’ll kill this asshole of an emperor myself," jeonghan mumbled lugubriously.

"don’t."

a silence followed your word, jeonghan’s tense hand still up in the air. 

"why wouldn’t i? he asked, slightly on edge, i know he is extremely powerful but he has to pay for what he did to you, to your brother, to his country, to all the innocents."

"i know. but we have trials and institutions for that," you argued.

"corrupted trials, you mean," jeonghan corrected heatedly. 

"not all trials! you feuded, listen, if we act hastily another organisation could easily overpower us and we’d go back to step one."

"weren’t you the one who wanted to catch them off guard?"

"yes, but things changed!"

"i don’t see how they are any different from few hours ago."

"they changed because three men died because of this mess. and if i am the one who was begging to act faster, weren’t you the one who scolded me for my so called recklessness?"

"this is none of your business!"

"as long as we are partners, this is completely my business! why are you so eager to kill seungcheol?"

"because- because i need to get revenge for my friend. and this can’t be done unless i kill this asshole myself."

jeonghan’s breath became less steady and he confessed :

"i used to have a friend, minghao, who also died during the war. we grew up in the streets after the collapse of our orphanage. the fucking republic never did anything good to us so, when the government asked for all the eligible men to join the army, i refused but he didn’t. he joined the armed forces because he believed in freedom. because he believed in the safety of civilians’ lives. because he believed our younger-selves would have wished for this kind of help. and he got killed." 

"i- i am really sorry to hear that," you whispered sheepishly.

"when i got the order to kill you, i followed you a whole week to know your habits but you reminded me of him : he was honest, true to himself and an insufferable little shit that i’ve never been able to manipulate. just like you." 

"so you refused to kill me out in remembrance of good old days?" you asked with an arched eyebrow.

"no, i refused to kill you because i love you." 

and, the next second, his lips were on you. the kiss had a weird taste, a mixture of tears, dust and you-didn’t-know/want-to-know’s blood. yet, the kiss also held hope and warm and, for the first time since wonwoo’s death, your feeling of loneliness finally vanished. 

when your office’s door opened, you froze before laughing :

"i’m sorry but i still can’t get used to see you in the military uniform."

in front of you was standing jeonghan, dressed in the uniform from the republican military school, ready to walk you home.

"i had to, since you told me you have a soft spot for men in uniform," the young man sighed, unable to hide his smirk.

standing up, you wrapped your arms around jeonghan’s shoulder while his hands found their place on your hips. and, as his lips softly pressed themselves against yours, you felt a weird feeling of nostalgia spreading inside you.

you remembered the day you had finally managed to gather enough evidence to prove the empire’s implication in the war after searching for hours in jihoon, soonyoung and mingyu’s offices.

you remembered the day you had finally testified at seungcheol’s hearing to bring justice to wonwoo’s death.

you remembered the day you had finally announced to your brother that you had put an end to his suffering and that he could finally rest in peace.

you remembered the day you had sworn to jeonghan that you’ll wait for him after his sentencing by the criminal court.

you remembered the day you had embraced him when he had finally ended his sentence two years later.

you remembered the day you had refused the suggestion of the high court of justice to become the new ruler of the country.

you remembered the day you had become the head of the republican armed forces.

but most importantly, you remembered the day jeonghan had announced that he’ll join the armed forces. "this way, i’ll be able to work legally with you. and i think it’d make ’hao happy."

when you finally gathered all your belongings, jeonghan solemnly moved aside and, with a swing of the arm, invited you :

"after you, marshal jeon."

rolling your eyes, you moaned :

"don’t call me like this."

"okay okay, sorry. after you, sweetheart."

and, with a final kiss on your temple, you both left to your home.

a/n pt 2 : if you managed to go throughout this fic until here, thank you so so much. please tell me your opinion, it’d mean a lot to me!

taglist : @junhour @lixiel0ver @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @islandheaven @belladaises

@/som1ig 2023 | all rights reserved | do not plagiarise

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What do you guys think?

I just imagined the bat boys in Traditional Indian attire and;

HOLY SHIT.

I just melted.

What I would do to see Azriel like this.

Cassian wearing this, WHEW.

Rhys, Our Dear High Lord, he would definitely be cocky wearing this.